


42 Flower Lane

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: snarry_swap, M/M, not-quite-rentboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape visited Harry Potter every Thursday evening and stayed for just under one hour. Someday they planned to tell each other the truth, but they were still living in the days before 'someday'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	42 Flower Lane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_flic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_flic).



> **Beta** : eeyore9990, who helped me turn the scene in my head into a story.
> 
> Written for the_flic in Snarry Swap 2011 — a small piece of Snarry smut for her enjoyment.

_He's a young man, just like any other_. That's what Severus Snape told himself every Thursday evening as he climbed the steps that led to the plain, dark red front doors with the brass lamp above them. The discreet brass plaque affixed to the wall gave only the address, 42 Flower Lane.

Snape placed his hand in the middle of the plaque. Magic flared beneath his palm, warm and welcoming, and the doors swung open. They closed as soon as he was inside, and he was wrapped in the peace and quiet of Muffling Charms, thick carpets, and velvet drapes.

Swinging his cloak off his shoulders, he handed it to the house-elf in the alcove next to the doors and strode to the enormous mahogany reception desk that blocked access into the rest of the house. It was, for the first time since he'd started coming to the house, unattended.

After a glance around proved that even the house-elf had abandoned his post, Snape examined the few items on the desk's surface. He ignored the two elaborate candelabra and the gilt-laden holder for the Fwooper feather quills, and focussed on the open ledger. Turning the book to face him, he tried to read its contents. The looped writing was incomprehensible. Not illegible, but blurred by spells that restricted those who could read it.

"Hardly more than a moment's effort to break," Snape mused. Then, with an effort of will, he spun the ledger around and released it with a flourish that spoke of his own frustration. He needed to know if what was happening in the house could be dangerous to him, but not enough to permanently lose what he gained by being there.

Not enough to lose _him_.

* * * * *

"Thanks, Harry," Pansy Parkinson said, offering him a tight smile. "I'll Obliviate the bastard and have Greg dump him off in the moors."

"In the middle of a bog, I hope," responded Harry. He took a few deep breaths, trying to control his erratic heart rate and get the adrenaline to subside. With the door closed, the privacy spells once again blocked all sound from inside the room, but he could still hear echoes of the screams that had filled the hallway when Pansy and Greg had used the master-charm to force their way in.

Pansy gave his arm a light pat that might have been reassuring if it weren't for the vicious light in her eyes. "Don't worry. We know how to handle the ones like him. He may not remember exactly what happened, but he'll regret it for the rest of his life."

Resisting the urge to cup his hands over his groin in a useless protective gesture, Harry took a step back and inclined his head towards the room that was reserved for his use on the one night per week he spent in Pansy's house. "I'll just get going then. I've a... _client_ to get ready for."

"Hold on a tick," she said, coming towards him with her wand outstretched.

He stepped a bit closer to the protection of his own door and asked, "What?"

This time her smile was affectionate, and she grasped his chin gently. "You'll want that cheekbone fixed before you see the Professor. Or would you prefer to explain to him how you got it? Tell him how his brave hero went to the rescue yet again and got a flailing fist in the face for your pains?"

Shaking his head, Harry made a face at the sharp ache caused by her Healing Charm. "Your—" he searched for a word that couldn't be taken the wrong way.

"Prostitute," she offered helpfully. "Employee works as well. Or you could just use their names. You've been coming here long enough that you might as well be a member of the household."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly one of them, no matter what Snape thinks. Although, for him, maybe I am, even if all the money he gives you goes to charity." He shrugged, feeling awkward. "Thank you for everything. For letting me do this. I know how much trouble you could get in if the _Prophet_ or the Ministry discovered that I was coming here."

"Hush," she said. "Never you mind what it could or couldn't do to me. This is about the two of you. Daft idiots that you are." She bent her left knee until the long slit in her dress bared the holster strapped to her thigh and put her wand away. "Now you get on with your preparations and let Greg and I handle the tidying up."

"Yeah. All right." Harry hesitated, then added, "If Snape wants a little extra time, you know, for the inconvenience he suffered, he can have it."

She huffed. "You're not going to let me charge him for it, are you?"

"Not even to put more money in the orphanage's coffers." He grinned at her. "I want him to keep coming back."

"Somehow, I don't think that's a problem you have to worry about." She studied him for a moment before suggesting, "You could always tell him the truth? That you're only here for him?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he considered it, but he shook his head and flipped her two fingers before going into his room.

* * * * *

His pockets lighter after handing Parkinson their burden of galleons and potions, and his annoyance greatly diminished by her abject apologies, Snape mounted the stairs to the first floor. He couldn't see anyone in the frames that he passed, but he could sense the portraits' presence. A form of protection he'd always assumed, although whether for the house's residents or their guests, he hadn't decided.

The hallway stretched before him. Three doors on either side, that he strode past without a second glance, and a seventh door in the centre of the short wall at the end. _His door_.

He paused there, tracing the lion-headed serpent carved into the main panel. Potter, he'd have to call him, although the man had become Harry nearly a year earlier when he'd become convinced that his weekly paid fuck wasn't the Polyjuiced prostitute Draco had crowed about.

Tugging at his cuffs to ensure they were properly seated over his wrists, Snape gave the door a sharp rap and pushed it open. He stopped again, just far enough inside the room for the door to close, caught in mid-breath by the image in front of him.

The bed filled most of the space in the room. Heavy brocade curtains of a purple so dark they were almost black covered the windows; matching curtains were tied to each of the four bedposts. The covers were folded at the bottom of the bed, and in the centre, propped up on a mound of pillows, lay a naked Harry Potter.

It didn't seem to matter how often Snape did it, how many weeks of Thursdays he'd walked through that door, the same need to possess, to own, to clutch Potter to himself and never let go, surged through him every single time.

"Snape," Potter greeted him. A frown creased his brow, lines bisecting and distorting the famous scar, as his gaze swept up and down Snape's body. "You all right?"

"Fine," Snape snapped, the word coming out harsher than he'd intended. When Potter didn't react, he pushed a little harder. "How could I be otherwise after being left to twirl my wand in the foyer without so much of a word of explanation?"

Anger flashed in Potter's eyes, and Snape smirked in triumph. "If you're looking for an apology because someone else's needs came before yours, you're in the wrong room."

"In any event," Snape said. "I'm here now, and plan to take advantage of every single one of the extra hours I was promised."

"Of course you do." Potter sat up and reached for the goblet on his bedside table, grimacing as he drained the contents. After tossing the goblet away, he got to his hands and knees with the same grace he'd once shown on a broom and crawled to the end of the bed. His cock and balls hung heavily between his legs, swinging with every movement, and Snape's cock hardened in appreciation.

Potter rose to a kneeling position and stretched. "You want to come here, then? Let me get you ready?" He licked his lips and swayed in place. "Or do you want me to come to you?"

And, with that, Snape knew he couldn't wait, couldn't play the game right then. He needed to get his hands on Potter, _his Harry_. Soft and slow could wait for their next session.

Flicking his wand in an arc and murmuring the familiar spell, Snape had all of his buttons open by the time he reached Potter. He placed his wand on the end of the bed. "Undress me," he ordered.

* * * * *

Snape's command sent flames of arousal sizzling through Harry. He went from half-hard to fully erect in an instant. The voice, those hands, the fact that Snape trusted him enough to allow him to divest him of his primary protections made it impossible for him to fully close his legs.

Fuck, he thought, as he flattened his palms on the pristine white shirt and slid them sideways, pushing the robes apart. The firm chest and wiry muscles beneath the crisp cotton almost undid him, nearly had him forgetting to Summon his wand before he sent the robes skimming over to drape themselves over the armchair.

And he had to remember to use his wand. Nothing was more likely to give away the game and send Snape running for the hills than the casual use of the wandless, non-verbal magic that so few wizards and witches could manage.

Giving himself a mental boot in the arse, Harry focussed on the task at hand. On not just baring Snape's skin, but feeling it, caressing it, revelling in it. He got Snape's trousers and underpants halfway down his thighs and slid to the floor, kneeling to pull off Snape's shoes and socks. After removing Snape's trousers and pants, he brought one of Snape's feet into his lap and stroked each of the long toes.

Snape's foot flexed, the toes rubbing against Harry's cock, and Harry almost came right on the sole.

Harry glanced up through his eyelashes. Snape's cock was jutting out, its slight curve making it appear to be pointing towards Harry. Snape's lips were pressed together and the hand that wasn't clutching at a bedpost was hovering over Harry's head.

After placing Snape's foot back on the floor, Harry rose up, bringing his face level with Snape's cock and pressing the top of his head into Snape's palm. He splayed his hands over Snape's thighs and kissed the tip of Snape's cock, lapping the precome from the slit, wrapping himself in the familiar taste, feel, and scent of Snape.

Snape's reaction was electric. His hips jerked forwards, his fingers dug into Harry's hair, and he shoved his cock between Harry's parted lips. "Suck," Snape told him.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered before getting on with it. He curled his tongue up and then flattened it, running it over and over the sensitive underside. He bobbed his head, sliding his lips over the head and then down to the base.

Sucking and releasing, slowly at first, then gaining speed, until Snape's breath was catching in the way that meant he was close to orgasm, and his hips were trembling with the need to fuck Harry's face.

Harry shifted his stance until his own cock was rubbing against one of Snape's legs, making sure Snape knew that Harry was about ready to come untouched.

"Not like this," Snape said and tugged on Harry's hair.

Giving the head one last suck that had Snape inhaling sharply, Harry pressed his body against Snape and stood up slowly, gliding his hands upwards. He released a small moan as his cock bumped over Snape's hipbone. When he was on his feet, he tilted his head, placed his mouth below Snape's ear, and murmured, "Then how do you want me?"

* * * * *

The feeling of Potter's lips on his skin rocketed through Snape, taunting him and urging him to snarl _Mine_ and to hell with the consequences. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Potter and held him tightly, putting all of his want and need and claiming in that embrace.

Then, when he was sure he could speak without giving himself away, he said, "I want you like I'd want him. On your back in the middle of the bed, legs spread apart, opening yourself to me." He took a deep breath. "Trusting me."

Potter stiffened and, for a horrifying moment, Snape thought it was all over. However, Potter leaned back and stared at him, his pupils blown wide and only a rim of green surrounding the black. Potter's fingers were trembling when he smoothed them over Snape's jawline. He whispered something that sounded very much like, "Always," before moving to the bed.

He did exactly as Snape had requested: pushing the pillows to one side and lying down on his back. He dragged his palms down his own body and hooked his hands behind his knees, drawing his legs upwards and outwards, showing Snape everything he had.

Not gorgeous, not beautiful, but he was everything Snape desired, spread out before him. Not wanting to come too soon, Snape squeezed the base of his own cock and waited for his arousal to recede. When he was sure that he was safe, that he could get on that bed and touch Potter without striping his release over him, Snape climbed onto the bed and took up a position between Potter's legs.

Knowing he was betraying himself, Snape asked, "How would you want me?" Pressing his thumb into Potter's perineum and admiring the utter abandon with which Potter reacted, he belatedly added, "If you were really Harry Potter."

Then he trailed his thumb down to the pucker of muscle in the cleft of Potter's arse.

Potter's cock jerked, and he let out a small gasp. "If I were—" he cleared his throat and began again. "If I were _really_ Harry Potter, I'd want you any way I could get you. But right now, right this minute, I'd want you hard and fast. I'd want to know that I belonged to you. I'd want to call you Severus. I'd want you to call me Harry."

The softly spoken and occasionally stuttered words were Snape's undoing. He picked up his wand and Summoned the lube from his coat pocket with such urgency that the phial smacked into his palm, nearly bouncing off before he caught it.

"Hold yourself open," he said, adding, "Harry," not because it was necessary but so he could see Potter's hips jerk and his hole twitch, could watch Potter's fingers scrabble at his own arse as he attempted to obey.

"I don't need much preparation," Potter gritted out, when Snape pressed a finger inside him. He rolled his hips, impaling himself. "Don't want it either. I want to feel you."

Snape fumbled the phial. It bounced off his thigh and spilled lube onto the sheet. Without hesitation, he swiped his hand through the pool and slicked up his cock. He withdrew his finger, lined himself up, and began to slowly push.

It was everything Snape had dreamed about. All heat and spasming muscles and a feeling of being where he belonged that he'd never known anywhere else, with anyone else.

"God, yes." The words came out of Potter like a sob, and without permitting himself to think about what he was doing, Snape scooped him up, rested back on his haunches with his knees apart, and held Har... _Potter_ close.

"Move," Snape said, giving up the attempt to think of Harry as Potter. He grasped Harry's arse, using his fingers to spread the cheeks open, and thrusting upwards. With the ease of practice, his knowledge of Harry's body, he hit his prostate dead on.

"I'm moving." Harry rotated his hips and ground down on Snape's cock. "Come. On. I need you."

Snape rose up and down on his knees, driving in and out of Potter, of Harry, encouraging him to rock his hips, to impale himself on Snape's cock. Over and over, each movement sending him deeper and deeper into Harry, stroking over Harry's prostate and sending shocks through Snape's body.

Unable to help himself, Snape lifted a hand to the back of Harry's neck and kissed him. Their first kiss, and Snape groaned into Harry's mouth as Harry clutched at him and welcomed Snape's tongue inside him.

Harry tasted of apple, parsley, ginger, and cucumber. _Not Polyjuice!_ The unexpected confirmation of what he'd already convinced himself was true went through Snape like a bolt of lightning. He sucked on Harry's lower lip, bucked upwards, thrusting as far into him as he could get, and came with Harry's arse rippling and clenching around his cock. And Harry calling his name.

* * * * *

They tumbled down to the bed, and Harry let Snape control their fall. Contentment was seeping through him, filling him, leaving him heavy-limbed and sluggish. A gentle Cleansing charm tingled over him, and the covers rose up to tuck themselves around them both.

"It's good," Harry mumbled, snuggling back into Snape's arms, holding them around him.

"Sleep," Snape whispered and pressed his lips against the nape of Harry's neck.

"Me too," Harry replied, although he thought that didn't quite answer what Snape had said. He closed his eyes and drifted in a place that was somewhere between being awake and asleep.

Eventually Snape stirred and released him. Harry made a noise of protest, but it was ignored. He was left alone. Again. Sighing, he curled up and pulled the covers up to hide his eyes.

* * * * *

Snape stared at Harry for a long minute after he got out of bed, hesitating, attempting to persuade himself that he should stay. With the extra time Parkinson had offered, he could stay past his allotted Polyjuice hour and end this farce.

Moving slowly, trying to delay the inevitable, he went over to the chair that held his clothes and started to get dressed. Eventually, though, there were no more buttons to be done up and no more laces to be tied.

His heart oddly heavy in his chest, Snape returned to Harry. He looked down, but all he could see was Harry's tangled hair and part of his forehead. Bending down, Snape brushed the hair back and kissed the faded lightning bolt scar.

"Stay safe, Harry," he murmured, and then went to let himself out of the room.

Someday, he promised himself, he wouldn't leave. He'd stay and force Harry to admit the truth. Someday, when he was absolutely sure that doing so wouldn't cost him everything.

* * * * *

As he did every Thursday evening, Harry stood by the window, hidden by the curtains and a Disillusionment charm, and watched Snape leave. Cloak billowing around him, Snape strode down the street. Away from him. Without staying beyond the hour.

Reaching up, Harry touched his scar and then his lips. Someday, he promised himself, he'd make Snape stay. He'd call him Severus and tell him the truth. When he was sure it wouldn't cost him everything.

~fin~


End file.
